


Summer

by Gemmiel



Series: Touch Me [2]
Category: Free!
Genre: M/M, eternal summer, preslash, touch me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2018-07-22 20:09:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7452355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemmiel/pseuds/Gemmiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haru's going through a rough patch, and Makoto does his best to cheer him up. Set during "Eternal Summer."</p><p>Part of my "Touch Me" series but can stand alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You guys have been super-extra-encouraging to me today, so you get a bonus story as a reward for your kindness. This is another prequel to the "Touch Me" series, set after "Loss" but before "Touch." There will only be two chapters (and I really mean it this time; this isn't a very long or complex story). (Edit: I lied; it looks like it will be at least four chapters long. Sorry!) Don't worry; I'll be wrapping up "Power" ASAP, too!
> 
> This is preslash, set during "Eternal Summer," between the regionals and the Nationals-- when Haru is at his lowest, in other words. I think this story will stand alone perfectly fine if you haven't read "Touch Me," and it is not at all necessary to read it to understand the rest of the series. Once again I'm just elaborating on some of the ideas and headcanons I touched on in other stories.
> 
> Note that there is mention of Haru's possible asexuality in this story. Later in the series I make it clear that he's demisexual, not asexual (in this particular series, that is). Just want to clarify that so no one is disappointed to discover it's not an ace!Haru story!

"I'm worried about Haruka-senpai."

Ryuugazaki Rei shoves his prescription goggles up on his head and gazes at Tachibana Makoto with open concern in his violet eyes. Rei, Makoto thinks, has come a long way since he joined the swim team more than a year ago. Back then, he'd been standoffish, aloof, even a little chilly. But Rei's become a good friend to all of them, a friend who looks after all of them in his odd way, and in particular he worries about Haru.

Then again, lately they all worry about Haru.

"I'm sure he's fine," Makoto answers, hefting himself out of the pool and perching on the edge.

"But it's not like him not to come to practice. We're so close to Nationals. And he's not answering his phone--"

"He never carries his phone, Rei. You know that."

"He should've been here for practice, though." A new voice behind them, feminine and a little strident. Makoto turns his head to see Matsuoka Gou behind them, her arms crossed and her toe tapping in clear vexation. Her dark red ponytail bobs with indignation as she speaks. "Usually we have to drag Haru out of the pool."

"Something probably just came up," Makoto says, as soothingly as he can. He knows perfectly well what the issue is, but he's not about to spill Haru's secrets, not even to the swim team, who are some of their best friends in the world. He shakes his head, trying to get some of the chlorinated water out of his shaggy hair. "Now that we've finished up, I'll go check on him. Okay?"

"Text us and let us know he's all right," Rei says. 

"Sure," Makoto answers, getting to his feet. "But I'm sure everything's just fine."

*****

Haru doesn't answer his door. Makoto isn't surprised, all things considered. He wasn't really expecting a reply.

He opens the (unlocked as always) door. "Haru? I'm coming in now."

Still no answer. He removes his shoes and pads toward the bathroom, expecting to find Haru submerged in the tub. But the tub is empty.

Makoto blows out a breath. This is bad, then. Very bad. He turns toward the bedroom, which is dark and shadowed, as if someone pulled the shades against the late afternoon sunlight. He squints into the darkness and sees a small lump on the bed, like a pile of abandoned laundry. 

"Haru," he says, more gently.

The lump doesn't move. He refrains from speaking again, in case Haru is actually sleeping. He pads across the floor and pulls back the quilt, very slightly.

Even in the semidarkness, he can see a blue eye glaring balefully up at him.

"You're awake," he says.

"Leave me alone." Haru sounds petty and childish, like he's reverted to being a little boy again. He's breathing hard, like he's on the verge of tears, and he's curled under the covers like a cat, balled up so tightly it makes him seem smaller than he really is. He tries to tug the covers back over his head, but Makoto doesn't let go of them.

"Haru," he says, softly, kindly. "Everyone was worried when you didn't show up for swim practice."

"I'm fine. Go away."

In his head, Makoto hears an echo of his mom's voice from years ago: _Haru will be fine, Makoto. He just needs time to adjust. You need to leave him to deal with this on his own._

He loves his mom, but it had been sucky advice then, and it's still sucky advice. Haru isn't the kind of guy who benefits from too much solitude, or from thinking things out on his own. If you leave him alone too long when he's depressed, he just mopes and sulks until he goes into a tailspin. Makoto doesn't pester him about the things that worry him, but he doesn't leave him all alone to deal with them, either. In his opinion, the best way to help Haru is to quietly be there for him.

The truth is that Haru's been in a tailspin for most of this summer, and Makoto's not quite sure how to help his friend. But he's absolutely certain that leaving Haru alone to hide under the covers in a darkened room is not going to help matters in the slightest.

"Want to talk about it?"

Haru gives him a disdainful _Have you met me?_ look, and tries to withdraw under the covers. When Makoto refuses to let go of them, he simply squinches his eyes shut like he's doing his best to close Makoto out.

"Haru." Makoto can't think of anything else to do, so he lets his hand brush gently through Haru's dark silky hair. It isn't an action he normally lets himself indulge in, but Haru is clearly upset, and he has to do _something_ to help. Haru doesn't react at first, but then he turns his head, rubbing his cheek against Makoto's palm. He's so like a cat that Makoto almost laughs.

He sits down on the edge of the bed and continues carding his hand through Haru's hair. Before long he hears Haru's rapid, heavy breathing start to slow, and he knows that his friend is starting to relax a bit. 

"I'm sorry," he says, very softly. "I know you miss them."

A long pause. "You want to know the truth?"

"Sure."

"I don't miss my dad. I mean, not at _all._ "

Makoto gives a short, humorless laugh. "I don't blame you, Haru. Your dad's an asshole."

"Yeah. But my mom..."

"I know." Makoto lets his fingers run down the nape of Haru's neck, caressing the warm skin beneath the overgrown black strands. "You miss her."

Haru's voice is very small. "Yeah. I miss her a lot."

"Maybe," Makoto ventures, "you could go see them sometime."

"They don't want to see me, Mako-chan."

Haru hardly ever calls him by the old childhood nickname any more. Only when he's feeling particularly young and vulnerable. Makoto cherishes the comfortable familiarity of Haru's voice saying the old name, which makes a pleasant warmth flows through him. "I think your mom wants to see you, Haru-chan," he says, answering in kind. "But your dad... well, he's..."

"If she wanted to see me that much," Haru says, "she could find a way."

Makoto knows that's true, and he sighs. He knows how lucky he is to have two parents who love him, and who don't hesitate to show it. His mom and dad have been parents of a sort to Haru for all these years too, and while he knows Haru appreciates it, he also knows that it's not the same as being taken care of, and loved, by his own parents. He wishes there was something he could do to help his friend. Maybe, he thinks, he could go visit Haru's parents himself, and knock their heads together.

Of course, he knows that's not actually going to happen. He's not a violent kind of guy (even though in his private opinion, Haru's parents totally deserve some head-knocking). And Haru's parents aren't going to listen to him anyway. He knows his own parents have talked to them often enough, expressing some very sincere concerns about Haru's wellbeing. Especially this summer, when Haru's been so down that even grownups can see it.

Hell, _everyone_ can see it. The whole town's been talking about it. Everyone in Iwatobi knows about the regionals, and about how Haru just...

Stopped.

The thing is, just quitting in the water isn't like Haru. He always claims to not care about times or winning, but the fact is that if someone pushes him, he'll go so fast he's a blur. So for Haru to just stop dead in the middle of a race...

Well, it's all too much like what Haru's been doing the rest of the summer, really. He's spent the whole summer just kind of treading water, like he's not sure which way he should swim. Like he's too afraid to head toward the finish line. It worries Makoto more than he wants to let on. 

He gets it, really. Making a decision about what they want to do after high school is tough. Makoto's only just figured it out himself (and hasn't shared it with Haru yet, for reasons he doesn't want to examine too closely). He realized a little while ago that he's not personally cut out for competitive swimming. He doesn't have the... well, the drive, maybe. He isn't certain what to call it, but he knows for sure that he doesn't have whatever it is that lights a fire in Haru and their friend Rin, a fire that somehow burns hotter and hotter, pushing them to go faster than they've ever gone before. 

But Haru-- Haru's got it. Haru's always been one with the water, and if only he'd accept that it's okay to compete, to _win--_

Makoto cuts off his train of thought, a little annoyed with himself. He's trying really, really hard not to tell Haru what he should do with his life. He's here for Haru, no matter what. Whether Haru becomes a chef or an Olympic swimmer or an artist... Makoto will still be here for him.

He just wishes that Haru clearly understood what he wanted out of his life. Makoto has a bad feeling that Haru's dreams are all tangled up with a bunch of other crap right now, like his absent parents and the fear of leaving the only home he's ever known. And maybe even the fear of losing his friends. He's pretty sure that Haru's not thinking clearly, that he's just trying to keep himself from thinking about any of it. But sooner or later, real life is going to come along and kick him in the teeth, whether he wants it to or not.

Treading water, he thinks, doesn't work forever. Sooner or later, no matter how hard you try to keep afloat, the water is bound to close over your head.

He realizes he's still stroking the nape of Haru's neck, very gently, and he blushes, and tries to move his hand away. But Haru's eyes flicker open, and he reaches up and catches Makoto's wrist.

"Mmmm," he says, making a noise almost like a purring cat. "Don't stop."

Makoto can't help grinning. Haru doesn't usually care for being touched, but sometimes... "I thought you told me to go away."

"I lied." Haru stretches, uncurling his long, lean body, and somewhere in the middle of the stretch his head winds up in Makoto's lap. Makoto finds his hand twining in Haru's hair again, and he sighs, caught between contentment and embarrassment.

If anyone walked in on them right now-- well, they'd think this was strange. Maybe more than strange. 

Maybe kind of, well, gay. 

Makoto is uncomfortably conscious that the term definitely applies to him. He's been aware that he likes boys ever since he first hit adolescence. He's had a crush on Haru since forever, of course, but he's not blind to other boys, either. Rin has that incredible rose-and-wine coloration, Nagisa's blond hair and huge pink eyes are freaking adorable, and Rei has legs to die for. And Yamazaki-- well, Makoto doesn't know him very well, but he hasn't failed to notice that he's built like a tank. 

But despite the fact that he's surrounded by hot, half-naked guys on a daily basis, he really only has eyes for Haru.

He knows that Haru doesn't feel the same about him. He's pretty sure that Haru doesn't feel that way about anyone, not even Rin. Haru definitely has some strong feelings about Rin, but Makoto is fairly certain they aren't romantic in nature, or even sexual. He and Rin just kind of strike sparks off each other somehow. He used to worry about it, but then Yamazaki came back to town, and since then it's been pretty clear where Rin's interest lies. And Haru doesn't seem to mind.

The thing is, Makoto isn't sure Haru is interested in _anyone_ that way. He's not sure he can be. It's not that Haru is emotionless or cold or any of that dumb stuff people say about him. But Makoto thinks he very well might be asexual.

And if that's the case, he figures he can live with it. He doesn't have the slightest intention of trying to push Haru into anything he doesn't want. He and Haru can just go on being friends forever, and he doesn't have to get romantically involved with anyone, ever. The truth is that he doesn't want anyone else. He only wants Haru, and he's okay with the way things are between them.

He just wants Haru to be _happy._

"You remember that night?" Haru says softly into the long silence that's fallen between them.

"Yeah. I remember."

"My parents just left, and I..." He sighs. "I didn't know what to do."

Makoto laughs. "You were going to do the same thing you always do, Haru. You were going to swim."

"Yeah, but that would've been really stupid. Swimming alone in the ocean, in the dark... I'm lucky you stopped me."

"You still dragged me down to the water, though."

"Uh-huh." The faintest shadow of a reminiscent smile curves Haru's mouth. "We walked along the beach, remember?"

It's not the kind of thing Makoto could ever forget. Haru had reached out and taken his hand, curling his fingers confidingly around Makoto's, and the two of them had run down to the beach together, and then walked hand-in-hand, barefoot in the sand, while the waves beat gently and rhythmically at the shore. The stars had gleamed overhead, and a half moon had risen, trailing silvery light over the ocean. It had been--

Well, _romantic._

Makoto thinks that's probably the night when he fell in love with Haru, though he hadn't realized it at the time. They'd only been thirteen, and he'd just been trying to console Haru for the loss of his parents, who'd driven away that afternoon and left him behind. He hadn't expected that night to change his life.

He hadn't expected that night to change everything.

"I'm sorry," Haru says softly, breaking into his introspection. "I know it's stupid."

Makoto frowns down at him. "What's stupid?"

"Sulking about my parents. I mean, they're gone, and they're not ever coming back. And I'm not a kid any more. I guess I should get over it."

"It's okay." Makoto strokes his hair, more gently than before. "I understand."

"It's just that every time this date comes around, every year, I get..."

"Sad," Makoto says softly.

"Sort of. It's more like, I think about what my life could've been like. How things could have been, if they'd just... you know. Stayed." His blue eyes go unfocused, like he's staring at scenes from a life that never happened. "I don't even know if things would've been better or worse. I mean, my dad had this way of making me feel like a freak. I hated that."

Makoto remembers Haru's dad, talking loudly and cruelly about what a weird kid he had, and nods. When he'd been little, it had made him furious on behalf of his friend. And now that he's so much bigger-- well, if Nanase-san had remained in Iwatobi, he thinks he might have given into temptation and thrown him into a wall by now. He's pretty sure Haru wouldn't have put up with his crap, either. Everyone thinks Haru is cool and emotionless, but he's actually got a hell of a hot temper on him, deep down, and under Nanase-san's constant belittlement he might well have run away, or flunked out of school, or acted out in some other way.

Then again, his parents might have simply taken Haru away from Iwatobi, in which case the two of them wouldn't have ever seen each other again. Just the thought is enough to make something inside him sink.

"But my mom," Haru says, still staring at nothing. "My mom... she wasn't that bad. I mean, she was scared of my father, too. I could tell. Maybe... maybe she wouldn't have been that bad to have around."

Makoto remembers Haru's mom as a pale, quiet shadow who was too frightened to contradict her husband on any point, no matter how slight. Maybe if she'd had the strength to stand up to him, to defend her child-- but she hadn't. He tactfully refrains from pointing that out, figuring Haru might as well hang onto the few illusions he's got left.

"I just wish..." Haru blows out a sigh. "I wish I could see them again. I don't really want to live with them, not now. I'm used to the way things are. But... I do miss my mom."

"I know." Makoto strokes his hair again. "It's okay, Haru. You're allowed to be sad once a year. Or even more, if you want to be."

"I think once a year is enough." Haru turns his head, looking up at him, and his eyes come back into focus, as if looking at Makoto helps pull him back into the real world. "Hey," he says, his expression brightening a bit. "Let's go for a walk along the beach."

Makoto smiles down at him.

"Great idea," he says.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't been writing as much! I'm working hard at my new job. I had the day off today, though, and wrote up this short chapter. I am also working on the first chapter of "Light," so don't worry-- I haven't forgotten you guys. Thanks for your patience and your support!

The sun is sinking low in the sky as Makoto and Haru make their way onto the beach. The waves are low and gentle, making a _shush-shush-shush_ sound as they shatter into foam against the sand. Makoto glances at Haru, and sees that (as always) being near the water is helping him relax. He isn't smiling-- Haru almost never smiles-- but his face has softened into an expression of peace, almost of happiness.

 _Is it the water that makes him look happy?_ Makoto wonders. _Or is it me?_

He instantly wants to laugh at himself for the thought. Except it's not funny, not really. Of course Haru doesn't look happy because Makoto is with him. He is aware that Haru is fond of him, of course, that Haru finds his presence comforting and soothing and familiar, but he knows, _everyone_ knows, that what Haru loves best is water.

Makoto remembers that when Haru was little and got upset or angry with his parents, he used to pretend he'd been born a merman, and that he'd been separated from his true parents, washed up on the shore, and found in human form by the Nanases, who'd taken him home to raise him on dry land. Haru used to insist that if only he swam long enough, his tail would reappear.

Knowing Haru's father as he does, Makoto doesn't blame Haru in the least for that particular flight of fancy. He wouldn't want to be related to Nanase-san, either. But it's really not at all difficult to imagine Haru with a long scaly fish tail, swimming gracefully through the ocean. For a long time, Makoto half-believed it was true.

He still kind of wonders sometimes. 

They wander along the sand in comfortable silence. The sky is darkening to a deep blue, streaked with pink, as the sun touches the horizon. Haru comes to a halt, looking out over the water, and Makoto stops too, wondering if Haru has finally succumbed to the call of the water, and if he's going to suddenly strip down to his jammers and dive into the waves.

The wind blows Haru's overgrown ebony hair back, and the sinking sun limns his finely carven features with gold, and Makoto doesn't find it at all hard to imagine that Haru is a merman trapped in human form, looking mournfully out at his long-lost home.

"It's beautiful," Haru says at last, very softly.

"The ocean?" Makoto says, because the water is what Haru always looks at. But Haru shakes his head.

"The sunset."

"Oh." The sunset is undeniably beautiful, painting the sky with purple and gold, but it's not the kind of thing Makoto imagined Haru would admire. "Yeah. Yeah, it is."

"But it's kind of... sad. You know?"

Makoto shoots a sharp sideways look at him, wondering if this particular train of thought has something to do with Haru's parents, or if something else is bothering him. "Sad?" he echoes.

"Yeah. Sad. You know..." Haru draws in a deep breath, like he's trying to find the right words to express whatever it is he's thinking. Words have never been Haru's strong suit. "It's an ending."

Oh. Makoto thinks he's starting to get what Haru is driving at. Haru's been fighting against endings all summer, in his quiet way, struggling against the inevitability of growing up, battling against the necessity for change. "Yeah," he says. "It's an ending. But it's beautiful. And tomorrow, there'll be a beginning."

"What if the sun doesn't want another beginning? What if it liked today better?"

Makoto smiles at him. "I guess it has to rise anyway," he says gently. 

Haru considers his words carefully, looking lost in introspection. Makoto keeps quiet.

"I wonder if the sun ever gets lonely," Haru finally says.

Makoto thinks about that for a while. "Maybe that's what the planets are for," he answers at last.

Haru nods, like that makes perfect sense. And then, to Makoto's shock, he reaches out and takes the bigger boy's hand in his, wrapping his fingers around Makoto's like he does it every day.

"Come on," he says, and heads down the beach.

Numb with shock, Makoto follows him, his hand tightening around Haru's in an automatic response. Haru's palm is so warm, and their hands fit together so perfectly. It's a strange feeling.

It's not like they've never held hands. When they were kids, they used to do it all the time. And on that night when Haru's parents left, Haru had taken his hand this exact same way.

But that's been years, _years,_ and Haru hasn't held his hand since.

Oh, sure, he gives his hand to Haru to help him out of the pool all the time. But this-- this is different. Very different. This is holding hands the way people do when they're, well, _dating._

He and Haru aren't dating, and they won't ever be, because Haru doesn't have any interest in that kind of thing. Haru doesn't like touch and he doesn't like change and he doesn't like--

 _Oh._ Makoto relaxes a little. Maybe, he decides, that's what this is-- Haru trying to hang onto the way things are. Trying to hang onto the familiar, onto things he's known all his life. Trying to hang onto his childhood. Trying to hang onto _him._ Makoto can understand that, can even relate to it. He knows (better than Haru does) how quickly things are changing, and how few days the two of them have left together in Iwatobi. 

The truth is that he wants to hold onto Haru forever, too. But he's come to the unhappy conclusion that he can't. He can't go through life basing his decisions on what Haru wants to do. In the end, he has to do what's right for himself.

He thinks, a bit fancifully, that a little part of him will always be walking here along this beach, bathed in the dark gold rays of the setting sun, and holding hands with Haru. 

But the rest of him needs to head in another direction.

Hand in hand, they ramble along the familiar shoreline as the sun dips below the horizon and darkness begins to overspread the sky. The first stars appear, and Makoto keeps expecting Haru to let go of his hand, but he doesn't. Their hands fit together perfectly, warm and comfortable and _right._ He wishes--

Oh, he wishes a lot of things. That he could hold Haru's hand forever. That he could walk beside Haru like this for always. That he didn't have to leave everything that ever mattered to him-- his parents, the twins, Iwatobi, the swim team, his best friend-- and go alone to a huge city that he's not even remotely prepared to cope with. The truth is that he's almost as scared of the unknowable, vast future as Haru is, and part of him, a large part, wishes he could stay in Iwatobi all his life, too.

"Haru," he says, and stalls out. He can't say any of the things he's thinking, damn it. He just can't. Haru is already freaked out enough, and he doesn't need Makoto piling all his own doubts and worries onto his slim shoulders. Haru's barely holding up under the strain of his own anxieties.

"Mmmm?"

_I'll miss this. I'll miss you. I'm going to school in Tokyo, and I'd give almost anything if only you were coming too. I'm not sure I can live without you, Haru-chan._

"It's getting a little chilly," he says instead, and it's true. Despite the fact that it's the middle of summer, the breeze off the ocean can be cool at night. "Maybe we better head back."

"In a little while." Haru drifts to a stop, seems to consider the matter, and sinks down onto the sand. He's still holding Makoto's hand, and doesn't seem inclined to let go, so Makoto drops to a sitting position too. 

"You okay?" he says.

"Yeah. I'm better. I was just... I don't know. Feeling, you know, alone all over again, I guess. Like when I was a kid and... and they left."

Makoto has the uncomfortable thought that when he tells Haru he's leaving for Tokyo, Haru might feel like that again. _I should tell him,_ he thinks, but then immediately shoves the thought away. He can't tell Haru, not tonight. Haru already has an open wound. The last thing he needs is for Makoto to toss an extra shovelful of salt into it.

"You're not alone," he says. "I'm here."

"Yeah," Haru says softly. "Mako-chan is always here."

 _Except when I'm not,_ Makoto thinks with a growing sense of dread. He looks down at Haru, feeling almost compelled to say something, when he suddenly realizes--

"Haru-chan! You're shivering!"

"I'm fine," Haru says, but he is undeniably shaking with cold. For the first time Makoto realizes he's only wearing shorts and a t-shirt, and he's angry with himself for not noticing before now. 

"Come here," he says, and before he can think too hard about what he's doing, he wraps an arm around Haru, pulling him close.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, this is getting longer than I meant it to. Sorry!

Haru presses his face into Makoto's chest, and his arms go around Makoto and hold on tightly. He's almost in Makoto's lap, and the bigger boy can't help pressing his face into Haru's hair and drawing in a long breath. Haru smells exotic, like tropical faraway lands and distant shores, and the warmth radiating from his slender body, along with his scent, hits Makoto like a brick to the head. 

"Haru." His voice sounds hoarse to his own ears. "Haru..."

Haru doesn't say anything, but he presses against Makoto more closely than before. Makoto is suddenly, desperately aware of the feel of Haru's body in his arms, conscious of the powerful muscles moving beneath hot skin, the tickle of Haru's dark hair against his throat, the gentle rise and fall of his breathing. His arms tense with the overwhelming desire to pull Haru even closer, to kiss him, to run his hands down his back. His imagination doesn't go much further than that, but it's more than enough to make his chest tighten and his breathing stutter in his throat.

He's holding Haru, and Haru is holding him back. They're holding each other the way people do when they're dating, he thinks again. Is that what this is? Does Haru finally want him that way? And if he does, is it real desire, or just the need to hang on, sparked by the fear of change and the possibility of losing his best friend?

On some level, Makoto knows he really needs to stop and give serious thought to this. Maybe he should put a little space between the two of them first, because he's not finding it easy to think right now. His brain is chanting _haruharuharuharu,_ which is not at all conducive to logical thought. But he also knows he can't bear to put distance between the two of them. Not now, not when Haru is clinging to him and nuzzling his face into his chest and--

"I'm sorry." Haru's voice is hoarse too. "I know I'm being stupid."

 _This isn't stupid,_ Makoto wants to say. _This is what I've wanted forever._ He chokes the words back.

"It's okay," he manages instead. "I don't-- I don't mind."

There's an understatement for the ages. He doesn't mind Haru in his lap, cuddling with him, the way he wouldn't mind ten million yen showering down out of the sky at his feet. This all feels too good to be true, so incredible he can hardly believe it. And yet he's definitely not imagining this. Haru is right _here._

"I try not to be--" Haru sounds less articulate than usual, and Makoto wonders dizzily if he feels this too, if his chest is tight and his head is whirling and he can't breathe, just like Makoto. "I try not to be--"

"It's okay," Makoto says again, his arms tightening even more. "It's okay, Haru-chan."

"I just... I miss them. I know it's stupid, but I miss them a lot."

The soft words are like cold water thrown over Makoto's head. All at once he realizes this isn't about his relationship with Haru, not at all. Haru is mourning his absent parents, and all he's looking for is comfort. Which is hardly surprising, given the circumstances. He remembers his own quiet words: _You're allowed to be sad once a year._

And it's true. Haru has every right to be sad, and he has every right to expect his best friend to console him without getting all-- all weird and breathless about it. 

Damn it.

"It's not stupid," he says, fighting to get his voice under control, lest it betray his emotional state and make Haru uncomfortable. He must do an okay job of it, because Haru goes on. His voice is half muffled in Makoto's chest, and he's rambling in an uncharacteristic way.

"It's just-- Nagisa and Gou sometimes say you're the mom of the team, you know? You take care of all of us. Especially me. Sometimes you really do act just like a mom..."

The cold water pouring over Makoto turns into an icy deluge, freezing his heart in his chest, and he wishes he could get up and run away. The softly spoken words hit at his worst fears.

 _A mom._ Haru is clinging to him the way he used to cling to his mother, back when he was little. Of course he is. 

Haru isn't thinking of Makoto as someone he'd want to date, someone he could be close to that way. No, he thinks Makoto is... like a mom.

Something stings at the corners of his eyes. He blinks hard.

"I don't think I look much like your mom," he says, trying to make a joke of it. It doesn't sound very funny to his own ears, but that's okay. Haru never laughs at his jokes anyway. Haru never laughs at anything.

"You take care of me," Haru says. His voice is muffled, because his face is still pressed into Makoto's chest, but the words are clear enough. "You get me up in the mornings and make sure I eat right and make me get to school on time..."

Oh, God. Haru is right. He _is_ a mom. No wonder Haru's never been interested in him that way.

Makoto wants to cry. He wants to lash out with bitter words: _Well, I'm leaving for Tokyo before long, so you'd damn well better get used to taking care of yourself._ He wants to shove Haru out of his lap, run home, and barricade himself in his bedroom, never to emerge again.

He swallows, very hard, in an effort to keep his voice steady. 

"I like taking care of you, Haru," he says, and his voice sounds perfectly normal to his own ears, and not at all like he's on the verge of tears. He thinks maybe this is part of being a grown-up-- sounding like you're fine when you really want to scream and cry. "You take care of me, too. All the time."

"You're better at it than I am," Haru mumbles into his chest. 

"No," Makoto says gently. "You take good care of me too, Haru. You always have."

All at once he knows it's true. He remembers that when the two of them were little, Haru had stood between Makoto and a bunch of other kids who were making fun of his swimming. Despite being tiny, he'd practically bristled with protective rage, and the other kids had rapidly backed down. No one bullies Makoto any more, of course, since he's taller and broader than almost any of their classmates. But Haru still stands between him and anything that scares him, whether it means quietly walking between him and the ocean, investigating scary abandoned buildings first, or comforting Makoto during a horror movie.

Haru, he thinks, takes care of him just as much as he takes care of Haru. Maybe more. 

Not for the first time, he wonders how the two of them are going to survive college without each other.

"I like taking care of you," Haru says into his chest.

Makoto lowers his head, greatly daring, and presses his face into Haru's soft, silky hair, breathing in his scent. "Me too," he answers with quiet sincerity. "But that doesn't make me like your mom, Haru. I take care of you because we're friends."

Haru is silent for a long moment, like he's processing that. At last he murmurs, so softly that Makoto can barely hear him, "Will we always be friends, Mako-chan?"

Makoto's heart aches at the old nickname. "Yes, Haru-chan," he says, meaning every word of it. "We'll always be friends."

Haru shifts, so that he's straddling Makoto's thighs. His body presses against Makoto's from shoulder to hip, his arms wrap tightly around his waist, and he buries his face in Makoto's shoulder. He's just pressing closer for comfort, Makoto knows, but it's no longer even vaguely reminiscent of motherly consolation. This is undeniably the way people press together when they're lovers, and this particular position is-- well, it makes Makoto feel too much. It makes him think too much. 

He can't stop thinking about kissing Haru. Touching Haru. 

But he doesn't know if Haru is thinking the same things. His palms are flat against Haru's back, and he imagines Haru's breathing feels a little faster under his hands, like maybe Haru is affected by their physical closeness too-- but what if he's not? What if Makoto has been right all along, and Haru is asexual? Then this could get really uncomfortable, really fast, particularly if Haru notices Makoto's automatic reaction to his nearness. Makoto wants Haru-- he's always wanted Haru-- but he's also terrified of screwing up their friendship. Haru matters to him, more than anyone in the world, and he can't risk ruining things between them. He just _can't._

"Haru," he says, and despite his best efforts his voice sounds odd. "Maybe... maybe we better go on home. It's getting dark."

The sky is rapidly darkening to ebony, like someone spilled a river of ink across it, blotting out the pink. A few stars have appeared, glimmering hesitantly, shyly, as if they're afraid to gleam too brightly yet. There's no sound except for the _shush-shush-shush_ of the waves and the gentle rustling of the sea grass as it bends and sways in the cool breeze. The night is beautiful, and having Haru in his arms this way, in such a romantic setting, is rapidly becoming a very real torture.

Haru mumbles into his shoulder.

"Don't want to go home. It's so quiet there."

Haru sounds like a child again, lost and lonely, and Makoto's heart twists in his chest. He doesn't want Haru to be lonely, especially when he knows that he's going to make Haru feel more alone than ever before long, when he finally admits to him that he's leaving for Tokyo. He wants to keep Haru safe and comfortable and happy-- but that doesn't make him a mom. His feelings for Haru are anything but mom-like.

He can't quite identify what he feels for Haru, but he knows it's not in the least mom-like. Yeah, he's protective, but it's more intense than that. His feelings for Haru are fierce and strong and strangely possessive.

Haru is his friend. 

Haru is _his._

He opens his mouth, and words he doesn't mean to utter fall out.

"Don't worry," he says. "I'll stay with you tonight."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys have been SO PATIENT. I am terribly sorry about the delay. Between my new job and getting everyone ready for school, I have not had a spare moment of time to write in August. But everyone's back to school now, and I think I'll be able to write more regularly from now on. Here is a short installment of this story, and I'm also working on the next chapter of "Light" and hope to have it up tomorrow. I thank you all for your patience and hope you will continue reading!

It's quiet at Haru's.

Makoto has always liked hanging out with his friend. Despite the fact that Haru's house is practically next door, so close that he and Haru can wave at each other from their bedroom windows, it's so calm and quiet it feels like an oasis next to the noisy racket and chaos of the Tachibana household. The twins alone make an ungodly clamor, and his parents, who love to chatter about current events and their jobs and pretty much everything else under the sun, aren't exactly quiet people either. When he has homework that has to be finished, or simply wants to get away from the noise, he often takes refuge at Haru's house.

But tonight, he tries to look around at the house through Haru's eyes, and he sees how empty it is, how oppressively silent. He remembers Haru's words: _Don't want to go home. It's so quiet there._

It is, he realizes, one thing to have a quiet place to retreat to when your kid brother and sister are so loud they're driving you crazy, and entirely different to have to live with the quiet all the time. For the first time he wonders if it goes both ways, if the noisy Tachibana household is a sort of oasis for Haru, an escape from solitude and fading memories of family and stifling, crushing silence. He imagines what it must be like for Haru to come home to this dark emptiness every evening, and his heart aches for his friend. It really isn't a home at all, he thinks. It's just a house.

They've spent the night over at each other's houses countless times before, so they have a well-rehearsed routine. They brush their teeth together, take turns showering off the sand from their walk on the beach, and then change into clean clothes. (Makoto has practically as many clothes stashed in Haru's dresser as he does at his own house.) He notices that Haru is wearing _his_ shirt, an old orange and yellow shirt that's always been one of his favorites, even thought it's pretty faded and threadbare now. It's way too big on Haru, and hangs rather adorably off his shoulders. It's so long on him that Makoto can hardly see the shorts he's wearing beneath, so huge that it should look kind of absurd. And yet the sight of Haru in his clothing makes something weird and warm melt in Makoto's stomach, spreading in all directions until he's pleasantly toasty all over. Even his cheeks heat up, and he suspects he's blushing.

"Help me set up the futon," he says gruffly, turning away from Haru before his reddening cheeks give him away.

"I don't feel like bothering with it." Haru sits down on the edge of his bed, blinking sleepily, like a blue-eyed cat. "You can just sleep in my bed."

At the idea of sleeping all curled up next to Haru, the warm, melty feeling in Makoto's stomach instantly goes taut and hot. _Bad idea. Bad, bad idea._ "Yeah, right," he says, trying to sound lighthearted about it. "Like there's room for the two of us in that little bed."

Haru flops over onto his side and wiggles around till he's under the covers, then lifts them invitingly. "There's plenty of room. Don't worry about it."

"I snore," Makoto blurts.

"Not that much. Come on, Mako-chan, I'm sleepy."

Makoto remembers Haru cuddling up with him on the beach. He remembers him straddling his lap, pressing as closely as possible. For a breathless, wild moment he thinks Haru is actually trying to seduce him, but then he remembers a night from a couple of years ago, when Haru's grandmom died, how he wound up sleeping with Haru, holding the smaller boy as he cried. He suspects that's what Haru wants-- not to cry, but simply to be reminded of the comfort Makoto offered that night. He's feeling particularly lonely and vulnerable, and he probably just wants Makoto to put his arms around him, pull him close, and hold him...

Oh, _God._

He suspects Haru has no idea of the sexual torture he's heaping on Makoto here. There's really no reason he should understand it-- not only is Haru (probably) asexual, but he's very likely operating under the assumption that Makoto is straight. Makoto has never told him otherwise, after all. Anyway, the two of them used to sleep in the same bed together all the time when they were little. So he supposes there's really no reason for Haru to think he'd find the two of them sleeping together weird or uncomfortable. Or, well, arousing.

He thinks about insisting on a futon, and runs through a number of very reasonable excuses in his mind-- _we're getting too old for this, Haru, and you're like a furnace and I can't fall asleep when it's hot, and besides you swim in your sleep_ \-- but Haru lifts his long, dark eyelashes and gives him a shyly hopeful look, and Makoto is instantly lost.

"Okay," he says, and crawls into bed next to Haru.

*****

An hour later, Makoto is still wide awake. The two of them don't fit in this bed nearly as well as they did when they were sixteen. Makoto is far broader and taller than he was then, and even Haru has grown quite a bit, though he's still relatively slender compared to Makoto. Haru hadn't seemed troubled by the lack of space, though. In fact, he'd taken shameless advantage of the situation, nuzzling up against Makoto's chest, burying his face in Makoto's shoulder, and draping an arm and a leg over him. Makoto put his arms around him, just because there was literally nothing else he could do with them, and Haru sighed contentedly, pressed even closer, and instantly fell asleep.

Makoto wishes it was that easy for him.

His face is pressed against Haru's hair, which smells citrusy, like the shampoo he uses. Beneath the scent of oranges and lemons, though, is the indefinable sweet scent of Haru himself, and Makoto can't stop himself from breathing it in hungrily. Haru's hair feels satiny against his cheek, and his body fits so perfectly against Makoto's...

Makoto takes a deep breath and struggles to turn his thoughts down another path, one that won't contribute to his raging hard-on. He really needs a cold shower, but he's already showered, and he's not going to risk waking Haru by untangling himself and stumbling out of bed. So he'll just have to deal with it. 

He figures he might as well enjoy having Haru in his arms, anyway, because it's not like it's going to happen again after college starts. He's going to go away to Tokyo, and Haru--

For the first time he lets himself try to envision what Haru's future might look like. He's always imagined Haru swimming for Japan in the Olympics, but if Haru can't get a grip on his fears, can't move past his anxiety-- then what will he do? 

Makoto has tried really, really hard not to get in Haru's way as his friend struggles through the process of deciding what to do with his life. But he can't help worrying, because Haru is so damn talented. He has such incredible potential. And yet Makoto can't shake the image of Haru living a quiet, unremarkable life in Iwatobi for the rest of his life, doing something he hates just to make enough money to get by. 

That isn't Haru. At least, it shouldn't be Haru. His swimming has such beauty and power and speed that the world needs to see it, to be awed by it. It's something that should really be shared with the whole planet, not hidden away in a small fishing village for all eternity.

It's not Makoto's decision to make, of course, but he can't help but think that if Haru doesn't at least _try_ to go on with his swimming, he's going to regret it, sooner or later. But he also knows Haru isn't going to listen to him. Haru is stubborn and hardheaded and intractable, and he won't listen to anyone on this particular subject.

Except, maybe...

_I wish I could see them again... I know it's stupid, but I miss them a lot._

All at once, the memory of Haru's softly spoken words drift up to the surface of his mind, and he wonders. Personally, he thinks Haru is a hell of a lot better off without his dad. But his mom-- well, as far as Makoto can remember she was never actively cruel, just quiet and meek and terrified of her husband. Maybe, just maybe, Haru's mom could help him fight his way out of this morass he's trapped in. 

He stretches out a long arm, gropes on the nightstand, and finds his phone. It's not that late, and he knows his own mother is probably still up, doing the work she can't finish while the twins are awake.

 _Mom,_ he texts. _Do you know how to contact Haru's mom?_

A brief pause. _Yes, I have her number._

Makoto bites his lip. He's meddling, and he knows Haru hates meddling. But he can't stand quietly on the shore and keep watching Haru tread water until he drowns, either. He just _can't._

_Can you maybe text her and let her know that Haru is swimming in the Nationals in a couple of weeks? I was thinking maybe she'd like to come see him swim_

He thinks about it, and adds, _Just his mom tho, I don't think his dad cares._ He refrains from adding that Haru's dad is an asshole. He's pretty sure his mom already knows that anyway.

 _Okay,_ his mom answers. _I'll let her know._

 _Thx._ Makoto places the phone back on the nightstand. He must have moved around a little too much, because Haru whimpers in his sleep and presses impossibly closer. Makoto puts his arm back around him and holds him as tightly as he dares.

Now that he knows just how much Haru misses his mom, he feels like he has to at least try this. And yet-- and yet-- he has the uncomfortable feeling that his actions aren't entirely altruistic, either. He can't help but wonder if maybe he just wants Haru to remember that he has a mom, that _Makoto_ isn't his mom.

_Sometimes you really do act just like a mom._

Just the memory of those words is enough to stab him right through the heart. The last thing he wants, the absolute last thing, is for Haru to think of him as some sort of weird mom substitute. He's not Haru's mom, damn it. He's _not._

He remembers his own words from earlier. _I take care of you because we're friends._ It's true, of course, but he knows that his feelings for Haru are more than mere friendship, too.

Ugh. His emotions are all mixed up and tangled together in his chest, and he's not sure if he's doing this for Haru, or for himself. He's confused, agitated, and having Haru's warm body cuddled up in his arms is definitely not helping calm his inner turmoil. Sighing raggedly, he presses his nose into Haru's hair, inhales deeply, and screws his eyes shut.

He tries his utmost to relax, but despite his best efforts, it takes two hours for him to fall into a restless sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a time jump here, but that's appropriate, as it's been a year since I worked on this one *coughs in embarrassment*. When I started reading up on Obon, I realized there was some cultural context I (as an American) had missed when I watched Free!, so I am working that into the story. I apologize in advance for any inaccuracies.

Obon, Makoto knows, is a difficult time for Haru. It is, after all, the festival in which one pays one's respects to the ancestors who have passed away. He knows, perhaps better than anyone else, how much Haru misses his grandmother, the only person in his life who was ever a true parent to him. Most people, maybe even Makoto's mom and dad, assume Haru's cool attitude and unchanging facial expressions demonstrate indifference toward the world, and imagine he doesn't really deeply care for anyone. But Makoto understands Haru, and he knows that his friend loved his grandmother deeply, in his own odd way.

So on the first evening of Obon, a week later, he walks up the stone staircase to Haru's house and is unsurprised to see that just outside the door is a cucumber standing on wooden stick legs-- representing the horse that will quickly bring the spirit of Haru's grandmother home-- and an eggplant on legs-- representing the cow that will more slowly bear her back to heaven after the festival is over. When he steps into the shadowed interior of the house, he smells incense, and sees that the low altar Haru erected for his grandmother after her death has been piled high with flowers, fruits, and sweets, as if to keep her fed and happy during the time her spirit is visiting here on earth.

He knows that Haru doesn't actually believe in an afterlife, nor does he really believe that his grandmother's spirit remains in heaven or visits the earthly realm, but... well, it's Obon, and Haru needs to honor his grandmother's memory somehow. Makoto understands that, too.

Guilt nags at him as he walks down the long hallway toward the bathroom. Obon, after all, is a time for family, and this is very likely the last summer he will spend in Iwatobi. He should be spending the first evening of the festival with his own family, and he knows it. But, he rationalizes, Haru _is_ family, just as much as his parents and the twins are. And besides, Haru _needs_ him.

He remembers Haru clinging to him last week on the beach, curling around him in bed, practically adhering to him, and he heaves a sigh. If he's going to be honest with himself, he has to admit that his motives here are not entirely pure. He knows that Haru has been having an awful summer, and he wants to help his friend through the worst of it. But Obon, like the anniversary of Haru's parents leaving, is a time when Haru is most likely to fall apart, and...

Well, he all too clearly remembers the feel of Haru's body pressing against his, warm and soft and vulnerable. Part of him aches to feel that again.

And again, and again, and again.

Which is ridiculous. He reminds himself that Haru is (probably) asexual, and not interested in him in that way. All Haru had been seeking the other night was comfort. And Makoto had been happy to offer it. That was enough for him. At least, it ought to be enough.

And yet... he remembers Haru curled in his arms, and a strange wave of heat runs through him.

 _Stop it,_ he tells himself impatiently, and pushes the bathroom door open.

To his relief, he sees Haru's dark head, barely peeking over the edge of the tub. That's an improvement, anyway. Despite the thoughts of his grandmother that must be plaguing him, Haru isn't curled up in his bed like he was last week. So things are getting better.

He hopes.

"Hey, Haru-chan," he says, and extends his hand, same as always. Haru emerges from the water, dripping, and glares at him.

"Drop the -chan."

That's Haru's standard response, and it's definitely an improvement. Makoto can't help smiling as Haru takes his hand and rises out of the water, dripping. And then he blinks, because Haru is _not_ wearing his swim trunks. It shouldn't matter, because they've seen each other naked approximately a thousand times, but--

Makoto looks away.

Haru shakes his wet head like a dog, and water droplets fly everywhere. "Hand me that towel, will you?"

Makoto grabs the nearest towel, a fluffy blue one, and hands it over without glancing in his friend's direction. He hears water sloshing as Haru rises to his feet and steps out of the tub, and the desire to look, to _stare,_ rolls over him and through him. An intense emotion he doesn't quite understand grabs him by the throat, all but choking him.

"I'll be in the kitchen," he blurts, and turns around, scurrying out of the bathroom. He settles down at the low kitchen table and breathes, long and slow, trying to get a grip on himself.

_What the hell is wrong with me?_

A few moments later Haru wanders in. He's wearing jeans and one of Makoto's old t-shirts, just as he'd been the other night. This one is dark blue, and it hangs off his shoulders and covers him to mid-thigh. It would look ridiculous if it weren't so, well... cute.

"Want some dinner?" 

Makoto swallows. His mouth is suddenly very dry, and he realizes it's due to the sight of Haru's slim body clad in his too-large shirt. That weird sensation clutches his throat with its talons again.

 _Mine,_ he thinks, and isn't sure if he's thinking of the t-shirt... or of Haru.

"I didn't come over here so you could feed me," he says, keeping his tone as light as he can. "I just figured you might want to hang out."

"Mmmmm." Haru makes a vague humming noise, and begins moving around the kitchen, brewing some tea for both of them. Quiet moments tick by. At last he speaks, very softly. "I went to the cemetery today."

There is nothing startling about that, or at least there shouldn't be. Most families make a pilgrimage to the cemetery at the start of Obon, so they can clean up the family grave-- weeding, cleaning the moss off the stones, and at last placing flowers and incense on the platforms in front of the grave-- and then pray for the peace of their ancestors. But for Haru to do it--

Well, it isn't like Haru to perform _ohaka-mairi_ in general, let alone pray to his ancestors. Haru doesn't believe in ghosts or spirits or the afterlife. He has a streak of hard, unyielding cynicism that won't allow him him believe in anything he can't see. Even after his grandmother died, and he really wanted to imagine he might see her again one day... he couldn't.

"You went to see your grandmother," Makoto says. It's only the second Obon since the old woman died, and the last time Haru was still in a state of icy, frozen numbness. He supposes that Haru's desire to celebrate the festival in a traditional way is a step forward in the grieving process. At any rate, Obon is a time of family togetherness, a time when many people return from the city to spend time with their relatives, and on some level Haru must have hoped his parents would come for a visit. But of course they haven't. So who else would Haru turn to, except his grandmother?

"I wanted..." Haru isn't good at expressing himself in words, but Makoto can sense him trying hard. "To honor her. To remember all she did for me. To thank her. I know... I know she isn't coming back. I know. But at Obon... I think of her. I feel closer to her somehow." He sighs heavily. "I guess that's all in my imagination, though."

Makoto is less confident about the nonexistence of spirits than his friend. In dark, abandoned buildings, he's been certain he felt ghostly presences breathing down his neck more than once, and he's never been quite sure whether it's his imagination or not. He shrugs.

"Maybe. Maybe not. I don't know, Haru-chan."

"Anyway." Haru frowns at the teapot. "I prayed, and I... I talked to her. And asked her. What she wanted me to do."

Makoto can hardly imagine Haru's dark head bent piously in prayer, an _ojuzu_ wrapped around his hands. He's glad that his friend is really trying to work out what he should do with his life, though. And perhaps asking his grandmother for advice makes a certain amount of sense. She is the one that got Haru through the worst of his difficult adolescence, after all. She was always there for him. Whether his friend truly received advice from his grandmother's spirit, or his grandmother's memory, doesn't seem to matter all that much.

He speaks gently. "What do you think she wants you to do?"

"I don't know." Haru swallows audibly, and pours tea into dainty china cups. The scent of jasmine permeates the air. "I thought I saw-- well, when I asked her, I thought I saw... water."

That's hardly a surprise. Makoto doubts there is ever a time when water is not on Haru's mind, but he decides not to say so.

"So you think she wants you to swim."

"I don't know." Haru puts a cup down in front of Makoto with an impatient gesture. "I don't-- I can't--" He breaks off in frustration, then blurts, "How does anyone figure this stuff out, Mako-chan?"

 _I figured it out,_ Makoto almost responds. But he decides to keep it to himself, because he can't load one more thing to worry about onto Haru. Not during Obon, not when he's grieving for his grandmother again. He has to wait for the right time to tell his friend.

The problem is that he's not sure there will ever be a right time, not really.

"I think," he says gently, "that water is always going to be part of your life, Haru. I think the question is more whether you want competition to be part of your future."

"I don't swim to compete," Haru answers, an edge of annoyance in his voice. "I just swim free."

Makoto knows that isn't true, not really. Haru's swimming is always beautiful, but it develops a certain fine-honed sharpness when Haru feels challenged by another swimmer. He's seen it over and over again-- most notably with Rin, but other swimmers have pushed Haru too. And Haru has risen to the challenge every time.

Until regionals, that is. When Haru just... stopped.

Maybe Haru's right, and he's really not cut out for competition. But Makoto remembers the way he swam in the medley, fierce and determined and relentless, and he decides he just doesn't believe that. Haru's just having a hard time dealing with the pressures and expectations that are being loaded on him from every side. Makoto understands that, because he's dealing with some of them as well. But it's worse for Haru, because he has so much amazing potential, and because he doesn't have parents standing behind him, reassuring him that they'll support him in whatever he decides to do. He's having to decide his entire future, all on his own.

Not for the first time, Makoto wishes Haru's mother could be troubled to help give him advice or support or a kind word. But there hasn't been a reply to the text his own mother sent. It's painfully obvious that Haru's parents just don't give a damn about their son.

"I didn't talk to your grandmother," he says at last, "so I don't know what she wants you to do, either. But I do know that the one thing she'd want you to be... is happy. That's what I want for you too, Haru. That's all I want for you. For you to be happy."

He knows he probably sounds like a mom again, but he can't help himself. Haru kneels at the low table, and picks up his cup, staring into the depths of the tea like he is trying to see his future. 

"I don't know what would make me happy," he says at last. His voice drops down into its lowest register, a deep baritone rumble. "I think about the future, and all I can see is this town, Makoto. I've never been anywhere else. My parents went to the city, but they didn't take me. My father didn't think I'd fit in there. Maybe he was right."

"You've gone to the city with the team," Makoto points out.

"For a couple of days at a time. It was huge and bright and noisy. Like being on a different planet. And I..." He sighs. "A lot of the time I feel like an alien here, Mako-chan. Like I don't belong. And I've lived here all my life. How much worse would it be in the city?"

Makoto understands that. He knows for certain he's going to be leaving Iwatobi, and part of him, a large part of him, is terrified. He's just a boy from a small fishing village, and he's going to be living in a vast city that has over thirteen million people in it. The idea of moving to Tokyo-- well, it's like stepping off a cliff and plummeting into the ocean far below. He just hopes he'll be able to find his way back up to the surface after he falls.

He wants to tell Haru that he's scared too, but he doesn't know how to do that without confessing that he's leaving. He falls into a troubled silence. Haru is silent too, staring into his tea without drinking it. 

At last Haru sighs, and pushes his cup aside.

"Let's go down to the ocean again," he says.


End file.
